


More

by laurpas



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Acceptance, Crossdressing, Genderfluid, Homophobia, M/M, Transphobia, musicals heal all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-01 22:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10202414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurpas/pseuds/laurpas
Summary: Anders has always known that he was more- More than a student, more than another kid in the drama club, and more than just a boy living in a small town.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was super nervous about writing and posting this and I really wanted to thank Pike for screaming about this w/ me, Corza for giving me such good advice, Timesorceror for reminding me that "I Feel Pretty" is from West Side Story as well as everyone who read this over (Corza, Pike and Mnemo.) You guys are the best.
> 
> The way that Anders experiences his gender in this is pretty similar to how I do. It won't be the same for everyone, I'm sure, but this is how I feel. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy, please mind the tags.

  It was an oversight on the principal’s part that they didn’t lock the door that led to the back of the stage in Anders’ high school auditorium. But it was one that he happily took advantage of after school and over the weekends. It wasn’t even as if he were doing anything malicious, though he did occasionally scribble graffiti in the boy’s bathroom.

  No, most of his time was spent traipsing around the stage, practising his lines or simply galavanting about. With no one to see or judge him he felt completely free to express himself, and express himself he did.

   There was singing. There was awkward dancing. There was a lot of falling on his face when he became far too enthused with his dancing. But, as there was no one there to tease him he generally managed to pick himself back up afterwards and laugh it off.

  He had signed up for drama club his first year of high school and hadn't looked back since. His parents didn't understand it and the other kids gave him shit for it on occasion but Anders brushed them off, as he did most unpleasant things. Besides, all of that fell away the moment he stepped onstage, dressed in whatever costumes they had managed to scrounge up from the back and all eyes would turn to land on him.

  Though he had never actually tried to deny it Anders would be lying if he’d said he didn't enjoy the attention. It was, in fact, one of the things that had drawn him in the first place. That and all of the cute boys and girls.

  Maybe sometimes he thought about taking on a female role too but, well, there were already so many girls in drama club and it just didn't feel fair to take away what were already highly contested roles.

  And even if they had not been, even if he had had the opportunity- Well, what would he say to his parents? His other friends at school? His father already grumped about his lack of manliness and his friends teased him mercilessly about having to wear makeup on days that they showed plays. Maker knew how they would react if Anders showed up one day with his hair carefully styled, wearing skirts and a bit of lip gloss.

  No, he was a boy and boys played the boy parts. Boys wore pants and hastily explained to their friends that the drama teacher had made them put on eyeliner, nevermind if they liked how it seemed to maker their eyes larger. And the only time, the  _ only  _ time a boy ever wore skirts was as a joke.

  Anders, as a genuine boy, knew all of these things very well.

  It was swallowing them, that was the difficult part.

  Anders had discovered the costume bins at the beginning of his sophomore year but it wasn't until the beginning of his third year that he gave into the urge to go through them. The plastic storage bins were organized by play as the drama teacher tended to repeat plays every few years, due both to the small pool of productions deemed appropriate for a high school and the even smaller pool of money available to the arts programs. 

  He told himself that he was just curious. That it couldn't hurt to look at the costumes of past plays, some of which he might not be able to participate in. Next to a bin marked _Into the Woods_ , was a bin labelled _My Fair Lady_ , and this was the one he pulled down first.

  Furtively he looked around, making sure that there was no one around. In his chest he could feel his heart racing and every little creak, every distant, muffled noise seemed overly loud to him.

  “No one’s here,” he muttered to himself, as if that could help him believe it. Slowly he turned back to the bin and slid the plastic lid off before staring at the nearly folded clothing.

  To one side were several black slacks and sports coats, as well a few ties. The men's clothing, the clothing that Anders would wear, if he ever got a part in that play. And to the right lay several folded dresses.

  The top-most one was a pink color, the color of blush, of the flowers that grew amongst the gravel in Anders’ driveway. His mother called them weeds but as a child Anders had thought them beautiful, until he’d been told otherwise. Slowly he reached over and picked it up, telling himself that he only wished to look at it.

  The fabric was old and soft, likely having been washed many, many times. He ran his thumb in wonder over it, looking at the wide scooping neck and the hem that flared out so delicately. 

  He remembered seeing the play in the 8th grade, remembered watching the girl who wore this very dress, her long dark hair a pleasant contrast to the soft pastel color. He had thought her beautiful and then wondered how he might look in it.

  “I can't,” he whispered to himself. But there was no one around to punish him, no one who was just waiting to jump out and yell at him if he were to put it on now, despite what his overly paranoid mind might try to tell him. 

  “Just… Just once,” he murmured, and then mentally promised himself that it would only be for a few minutes. Any longer and he was just asking for someone to walk in and catch him in the act.

  The act, as if he were doing something dirty.

  Shaking his head he stood up and tried to pull the dress down over himself before quickly getting stuck. He hadn’t bothered to remove his clothes and his tall, gangly frame fit poorly into the dress. Huffing he struggled with it for a few minutes longer before finally tugging it off of himself and throwing it to the ground, chest heaving.

  Unbidden, tears sprung to his eyes and he angrily wiped them away. What was he crying about anyway? That a dress- A dress made for a woman- couldn’t fit him? That his body was tall and stupid and gawky and that it didn’t- Didn’t move the way he wanted it to or look the way he wanted it to?

  “Idiot,” he muttered to himself. The dress lying on the floor in a crumpled heap seemed to be mocking him but he still forced himself to pick it up and carefully fold it before putting it away. It wasn’t the dress’ fault he was the way he was and it had been childish of him to react that way.

  He put the bin back on the shelf and although he could have spent time practicing or doing homework instead he decided it was best to leave, disappointment and embarrassment gnawing at him the entire way home.

 

  He put the knowledge of the dress away just as he had the bin- Back in the back of his head where it could do little to disturb him. But just like with those bins he was forced to walk past that knowledge every day, that curiosity and that desire.

  But it wasn’t until he was cataloging the dresses from  _ Into the Woods  _ as a favor to the theater teacher that he came across another temptation. 

  It was light blue and had obviously been made for a rather large woman. The bodice and arms were wide around and the length of the skirt was far greater than Anders thought he might have needed. His hesitation was even greater this time, especially after what had happened the last time, and when he managed to pull the dress over his body and look in the mirror it was so terrible he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

  The dress was long enough for him and was able to fit his broadened shoulders but the cost was that most of the rest of it hung about him awkwardly. He had no hips or chest to speak of and he had still refused to remove his street clothes, creating lumpy bulges under the fabric of the gown.

  But instead of doing either of those things he moved his hand up and slowly let his hair out of its queue.

  He had always kept it long, though it had been more because he thought it looked rakish and less because of… This part of himself. And yet, as his hair settled around his shoulders, he found that he liked the way the waves softened his face, the way the blue of the dress complimented the golden his hair.

  His face was scruffy, his jaw was too strong and there was the matter of his body but he found himself smiling crookedly at his appearance, his hand playing with some of the lace detail around the neckline. He felt… He felt strange and silly. 

  And he also felt rather pretty.

  Anders did not allow himself to linger for very long but this time when he put the dress away he did so gently, almost reverently. The pink dress had not been forgotten, but it had certainly been replaced.

 

  It wasn’t long before Anders, in true fashion, became more bold. The drama teacher, Mr. Irving, had tasked him with creating lists of all of the items of clothing for each play so that there would be a generally better organized system which required him to go through all of the clothing, as well as most of the props, that the drama department at Kinloch High held in its possession. 

   Most dresses were too short for him but he often tried them on anyway, only truly giving up if they happened to be too small to fit around his arms or shoulders. He also began shaving and, although it made him even more nervous, began dipping into the makeup left behind by previous actors and actresses.

  And then, one day, his worst nightmare came true.

  He had discovered a dress made out of cheap, purple satin from the _Guys and Dolls_ bin that actually fit him well and had decided to go a little wild with the make-up, smearing bright red lipstick on his mouth and packing as much lavender eyeshadow as he could above his eyelids. The eyeliner was uneven, the mascara a mess, but when Anders looked back at himself in the mirror he decided that he hadn’t done too terribly. 

  And then from behind his reflection, stepped one of the senior students.

  “I can give you some tips if-” He was cut off by Anders screaming in both shock and horror as the younger student quickly whipped around, instinctively backing up against the wall and staring at the older boy, terrified.

  “I-” He started, already feeling tears prick at his eyes. “I was- Just-” How did he explain this? Oh yes, sorry older student, I was just in here making sure that the dresses and the makeup were still good to use? By wearing them and applying them to my own face? “I’m sorry,” he burst out, “Please,  _ please  _ don’t tell Mr. Irving, I-”

  He knew he’d been kicked out of the drama club, perhaps suspended and then his parents would find out and he-

  “Uh-” the other student stared at him, bewildered, and raised his hands as if to gesture that he meant no harm. “I’m not- You’re fine. I’m not going to tell anyone.”

  Anders blinked hard through the panicked tears, staring at the other boy hard until he realized that he recognized him. 

  Karl Thekla was a senior and was in charge of most of the tech for the drama department. Anders had talked to him on occasion but it had always seemed like he was too busy to talk to the younger students, Anders included. Busy doing various projects for Mr. Irving, which probably meant that he…

  “I mean- I usually stay after too, and I’ve seen you before- I just- Thought I could offer…” He sighed, running a hand along his chin which had begun to grow an impressive beard. 

  “You’ve seen me… Doing this before?” How stupid of Anders, to think that he’d ever been alone, that he wouldn’t somehow be caught.

  “Yes and I know what you’re thinking but I wasn’t going to judge you or get you in trouble.” His cheeks reddened as he finished, “I actually… Just wanted to give you some tips. On make-up.” 

  “What.” It wasn’t a question, so much as the only thing Anders could think to respond with. None of what Karl said was making sense. He should have- Been disgusted with him, or taunted him or at the very least scolded him for misusing the theater department's property.

  And now he was looking away from Anders, rubbing the back of his head as if embarrassed by  _ himself _ .    
  “I mean, I’m not the best at this kind of stuff too, but, well, I noticed your eyeliner was a little heavy and I think- If you don’t mind-”

  He had averted his gaze and the blush on his face now extended down his neck and under the shirt that covered his chest. “I’d understand if you were offended, I just…” As he spoke, however, he raised his head again in order to give Anders a small, gentle smile.

  And that was when Anders fell in love for the first time.

 

  Karl had his own make-up that he brought from home which was far nicer than most of the stuff that Anders had managed to scrounge up. It was mostly drug-store brand, but Anders was thankful that he shared it all the same. 

  Karl  _ also  _ had clothing that fit him and that were not just the castoffs from the drama department. Things like boots and tight jeans and cardigans and even a mini-skirt that Anders hadn’t been able to stop looking at himself in. 

  They continued to meet in the auditorium after school for makeup lessons but soon enough these turned into trips to the thrift-store to look for clothes and then grabbing a quick bite to eat at the local burger or pizza place. Most nights Anders came home at seven or later but other than making sure that he kept his grades up his parents seemed to care very little. He was unable to hide his newfound happiness from them and if they thought it was because he had found a girl, well, he was only too happy for them to believe what they wanted to.

 Besides, it was not so very far from the truth. Karl may not have been the perky, girl-next-door his parents might have wanted for him but he was more than Anders could have asked for.

  He was smart and funny and kind and awkward but in a way that Anders found strangely endearing. And then there was the fact that he accepted this part of Anders, the part that Anders found strange but which Karl called wonderful, and that he seemed to understand it so well.

  Anders wanted it to last forever but, like all good things, it had to come to an end eventually.

 

  As Anders had grown bolder and more certain of himself he had begun to dress and put on makeup at home in his own room. Though he still enjoyed the time he and Karl spent together making themselves over he had wanted to surprise him with his own creation.

  He knew of drag queens but while he was impressed by their outrageous hairstyles and stilt-like heels that wasn’t quite the look he was going for. No he wanted- He wanted to look like a woman, to feel the same on the outside as he did sometimes on the inside. 

  It wasn’t that his body was wrong, at least, it wasn’t always. But sometimes it felt as if there was more to him, and even though it was silly he could not deny that slipping on his dresses and sweaters and eyeliner made that part of him more present. 

  It was a Wednesday night and downstairs he could hear the blaring of the TV as his parents sat in front of it, blindly watching their television dramas or the news. He was leaning intently into his little hand mirror, adding the finishing touches of his eyeliner. He had planned to sneak out and see Karl once he had finished and his parents were safely abed, wanting to surprise him. He was so certain that Karl would be proud and maybe, just maybe, he would kiss Anders and ask him to be his boyfriend and-

  Anders was so focused he didn’t notice the soft movement of feet on the carpet just outside his bedroom, nor did he hear the turning of the doorknob until it was too late. 

  He turned around, still holding the small tube of eyeliner in one hand, and realized that his mother was standing in the doorway, staring at him.

  “I-” she said, color draining away from her face as she took him in. He was wearing a knee-length black skirt and a pink sweater with little hearts on it, his make-up making him look sweet and very feminine. He’d even stolen his mother’s curler in order to style his hair a little and it now hung around him in glossy waves. “I wanted to say… Goodnight… To you.”

  “Mom,” Anders replied, his heart clenched in his chest. “I-”

  “What- I don’t understand.” Her lips trembled and her eyebrows turned down, “Why are you-” a look of disgust passed over her face that tore at his heart, made shame and guilt and  _ This is wrong wrongwrongwrong  _ crawl up the back of his throat. “Is this- Are other kids pressuring-”

  “ _ No _ ,” he said and suddenly scrambled up from where he had been sitting at his desk, his eyeliner still clenched protectively at his side. “No one’s- Made me- I just-” 

_ Enjoy this. Need this.  _

__ “Well I don’t understand,” his mother replied, voice souring, “But clearly your father and I have been remiss-” She started to raise her voice and Anders’ heart sunk as he realized that his father would hear and come up shortly.

  “Please, no, don’t tell dad, please don’t-”

  He heard his father’s voice, booming, from below, “What’s that Gabi?”

  “Johann, I think you’d better come up here-”

  “Mom,  _ please _ -” He could already hear the sound of his father’s heavy footfalls coming up the stairs and briefly he considered jumping out his window. Surely it had to be better than the confrontation that was about to happen.

   “What’s the matter?” He heard his father, who had not yet seen him, ask.

  “Just take a look at your- At your son. I don’t know what they’ve been doing at that drama club of their’s, but I swear, Mr. Irving is getting a call from me tomorrow-”

  Anders’ father finally made his way into the room, staring at his son as he hunched his shoulders and tried to appear smaller.

  “What,” he said into the silence, “in the Void-”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Anders head was bowed as he spoke quickly, as if words alone could stave off the oncoming storm of his father’s angry.

  “What in the-” His father whipped his head back to his mother, as if she hadn’t seen him, “Why the fuck are you dressed like a  _ girl _ ?” He said the word as if it were an ugly, shameful thing. “Take that shit off and wash your face. You- You-” His chest was heaving, his face flushed red with anger, a sharp contrast to the pallor of his mother’s face.

  Anders squeezed his eyes against the tears that threatened to rain down as his father continued, trying to regulate his breathing but feeling as though he had had just run a marathon. 

  “Y-Yes,” he said, voice watery, and to his shame he felt tears, fat and heavy, begin to roll down his cheeks. He’d been such a fool, to think that this was alright. To think that it was safe to do this in his own bedroom.

  “No drama club,” he father said, gesturing with his hands, “No- Void, I don’t even know  _ what  _ to do with you now- You’re grounded for… Until we can figure this out.”

  “Wait, dad, please, I swear this isn’t about that- I-I’m not-” He felt his throat constrict at the thought, of no longer being able to see Karl.

  “I let you do that, telling myself that kids these days are different but this is-” his father huffed, “It's one thing, the- The wearing stage makeup or whatever but this-”

  Anders felt his shoulders slump. The skirt he wore now felt too tight, his shoulders too wide for the sweater he was wearing. Undoubtedly his makeup had begun to smear and he realized he had never felt more ugly in his life.

  “Please, I promise I won’t ever do it again- You can’t- You can’t take that away from me, it’s not  _ fair _ -” He looked back up at his father, who stared back at him coldly.

  “That club is a privilege, one that you lost the moment you-” he made an aborted motion towards Anders, “I am not going to have a-” 

  “ _ Johann _ ,” his mother finally interrupted, “He is not one of those-” Her face flushed red, “It’s just a… A phase, young people do this.”

  A phase. Anders felt his chest constrict, felt the shame and anger swirl within him, to be stripped down in such a way. A  _ phase _ . As if he were not real- 

  He looked up again to see his parents, then looked to the open door beyond them. He was no longer thinking, merely feeling and what his knew, what his heart and bones were telling him, was that he needed to leave this place, this place where he did not feel real or right.

  Anders took a step forward, and then another one. His parents were making eyes at each other, speaking in low voices. He heard their words distantly, felt them crawl over his skin unpleasantly like an insect, pinching and biting. He wanted to bat at his own arms, run his nails over his own chest until the skin there was covered in red welts 

  But more than any of that he wanted to run, run and never to return. The next time his foot came down it did so harshly and all of a sudden he was moving quickly, bursting past his parents and out into the dimly lit hallway. The television blared belowstairs in the living room and the back of his kitten heels were digging into his feet but he did not slow, not even when his parents tried to follow him, yelling at him to stop.

   His descent down the stairs was awkward and clumsy and he nearly slipped, barely catching onto the railing at the last second. In his chest his heart pounded and already he could feel the sick feeling of the adrenaline wearing off, not even a minute after he had decided to blindly follow his instincts.

  But although there was a terrified voice inside of him yelling at him to stop he did not. Not even when the voice inside his head was replaced with his father’s, telling him not to leave, that if he went out that door that he’d better not bother coming back.

  Anders twisted the knob on the front door and then raced out into the night without a backwards glance.

 

  He did not know where he was running nearly until he had reached his destination and when he did he found himself unsurprised.

  Karl’s home was a squat little ranch house painted a sad beige but which nevertheless glowed warmly with light this late in the evening. Anders stopped at the end of the driveway suddenly, his legs aching and chest burning from the running and emotional turmoil of the night. 

  He considered turning back, told himself that he shouldn’t have been bothering Karl. He’d been so worried about his college essays, about midterms, and Anders would only be adding to that stress. Karl had already done so much for him and it wasn’t fair of him to dump this on him too.

  Anders continued to stand there, arguing with himself, when suddenly the window to the front room of the house slid open and a very confused Karl poked his head out the window.

  “A- Anders..?”

  The boy jumped at the sound of his name and nearly turned and fled, the weeping blisters on his feet and his sore thighs be damned. 

  “I’m-” He started, as if he could offer up a good explanation for why he was there. Swallowing heavily his shoulder sagged and, hesitantly, he asked, “Can I… Come in?”

  “...Sure, yeah, yes, of course- Just…” Karl looked over his shoulder before leaning back into his room. “Come on through the window.”

  Anders stumbled across the lawn and, with a little bit of help from Karl, crawled over the window sill and fell into his room. He frowned at the marks his shoes left on the carpet and gingerly stepped out of them, wincing at his much abused feet. When he looked back up it was to see Karl staring at him with wide, anxious eyes and he immediately felt himself flushing, realizing what he must have looked like.

  “What happened Anders?” Karl’s voice was soft, as if he were afraid that he might hurt Anders even more if he raised it too loudly.

  “My parents…” Anders looked away, “...Found me. Like this.”

  Karl looked at him for a moment before stepping forward and wrapping him up in a tight hug. Anders blinked, not having expected it but, eyes filling with tears, grasped onto Karl’s shirt and buried his face into the chest in front of him.

  “I-” he started, voice wobbly. Karl’s arms only tightened around him further and although he should have run dry by now Anders felt tears beginning to trail down his cheeks again. “I was so stupid- I should never have-” He hiccuped a little as he raised his head to look up at Karl whose own eyes looked damp. “I feel so- So  _ wrong _ \- You can’t be- You can’t both- You have to be one or the other but I’m- I’m  _ not  _ and I feel so ugly a-and like I’m not right b-but nothing  _ is _ -” 

  He was trying to stifle the sounds of his crying, knowing that Karl’s parents had to be home and so he buried his face in Karl’s shirt again, ignoring the way he had dampened it.

  It wasn’t until he had finally gotten his sobbing under control that he realized that Karl had begun singing softly, rocking his body, and Anders’ with it.

  “...And I pity any girl who isn’t me tonight…” His voice was a soft baritone, the notes wrapping around Anders just as his arms had and calming him somewhat. “I feel charming, oh so charming, it’s alarming how charming I feel…” Anders closed his eyes, smiling slightly despite himself. The drama club had put on _Westside Story_ in the fall and he still knew most of the lyrics.

  “And so pretty- Anders, I can’t sing this alone-” Karl started and when Anders looked back up at him he felt his breath catch. His eyes were gentle, teasing perhaps but very carefully.

  Anders did not feel like singing. He felt like curling into a ball and trying to forget that the outside world existed. But he could not say no to Karl, not with the way he was looking at him.

  Taking a deep, shaky breath he started, “I feel stunning, and entrancing. Feel like running and dancing for joy…” Karl had joined him, their voices twining pleasantly together, and Anders suddenly found his voice rising, his face heating, as the next words spilled from his mouth, “For I’m loved, by a pretty wonderful boy…”

  “I feel pretty, oh so pretty, that the city should give me its key. A committee, should be organized to honor me.” 

  Anders felt the edges of their lips slowly beginning to turn upwards, felt Karl pull them impossibly closer, felt the way the hem of their skirt brushed at the top of their knees and how their long hair lay limply against their neck, slowly beginning to dry.

  “Such a pretty face, such a pretty dress, such a pretty smile, such a pretty me-” She closed her eyes, feeling tears this time not from fear or pain or dysphoria but from joy, from the love that she could feel from Karl, a love that wound its way around her when she was the boy sitting next to Karl in the diner, a love that cloaked her when she stood next to him in the mirror and compared eyeshadow colors. A love for her and for him, for the myriad aspects of Anders, even things that they had only just begun to recognize.

  Anders opened her eyes and looked up at Karl who was now grinning down at her and was unable to do anything but grin back.

  “ _ Such a pretty me!  _ I feel stunning, and entrancing, feel like running and dancing for joy-”

 

  “For I’m loved,” her voice had lowered slightly with age, becoming a baritone as Karl had once been. She had sung the words many times over the years, both as a comfort and, as she did that night, in remembrance.

   “For I’m loved,” her voice was soft as she looked into the mirror, gently placing the long feathered earring into the lobe of her ear. Downstairs she could hear her roommates and friends laughing and talking, excited for the night of adventure ahead. 

  “By a pretty wonderful boy.” The last words left Anders mouth and she sat back, smiling softly at her appearance. Her skill with the eyeliner brush had improved greatly though she still would always envy Isabela’s deft hand. With time had also come more money, more freedom, and although she did not have a great deal to spend she had been able to invest in a few simple things like real bras and better make-up. 

  “Anders, are you coming yet!?” That was Hawke, yelling from just beyond Anders’ open door. She didn’t yell back, instead leaning forward to gaze critically at the edges of her lipstick. She remembered watching Karl make a little ‘x’ over his lips to help guide his strokes and she smiled sadly at the thought.

  It’d been difficult to lose Karl but there were nights like this when Anders thought of the happy memories and things became easier.

  “An _ ders _ ,” she chuckled at the sound of Hawke’s boots tramping up the stairs and with a final look in the mirror she stood, beginning to move to the open door of her bedroom.

  “Yes, Hawke?” she called, grinning when they stopped in the doorway, eyes wide. For a brief moment she felt her chest constrict, the worry that she would be rejected always in the back of her mind.

  And then Hawke’s face broke into a shy smile as they said, “You, uh, you look… Nice.” They looked down at their shoes then back up again, before suddenly they said, “Uh, we should get going- The others are… Eager to go.”

  “Yeah, I can hear that,” Anders snorted as the loud voices of Isabela and Varric floated up the stairs. She moved forward then, grasping Hawke’s arm and beginning to pull them with her. “C’mon,” she said, looking briefly back at her friend, her eyes crinkling slightly as she smiled, “Let’s not keep them waiting any longer.”

  Hawke nodded and followed, a slow smile coming over their features. Just as they were about to go downstairs however they stopped Anders and, quickly, spluttered out, “You look- You look pretty Anders. Really pretty.”

  Anders looked back at them, blinking slightly, before grinning a little self-consciously. “Thank you Hawke, I think so too.”  

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is laurpas.tumblr.com, i'd love to talk about this story here or there with you


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